Hugs, Kisses and Headaches
by britishtoatea
Summary: 2pFr/2pUk. Francis thinks about Arthur as he watches him sleep.
1. Chapter 1

Francis wasn't sure what had woke him up in the dead of the night, wasn't sure if it was the light of the full moon on his face or perhaps his pink haired lover snuggled up beside him. Perhaps it was something else entirely. He didn't know, it didn't matter. He was awake now, and that was troublesome.

Francis closed his eyes, tried to go back to sleep. His thoughts were swirling with something even more troublesome than being awake in the middle of the night. Arthur. Arthur and his baking, and his freckles, and his pink hair and bowties. Arthur… Always Arthur.

Francis sighed, rolled onto his side, away from Arthur, careful to not wake up said man beside him. Not that it would matter much if he did, Arthur was a heavy sleeper, and would likely fall right back asleep in no time.

He closed his eyes, huffed out a heavy breath as he tried to clear his head from his thoughts, tried to ignore the pale light coming in through his window. Another sigh. He'd never get to sleep with that light in his face. He adjusted back onto his back, much less careful this time than before.

Arthur… Francis turned his head towards him, gazed at him for what felt like the first time. Arthur was really beautiful like this, illuminated in the moonlight, silhouetted by the darkness that was Francis' bedroom.

He reached up, gently swiped away a stray hair from Arthur's face before doing the same to his own, tucking it behind his ear. It was soft, Arthur's hair… Everything about Arthur was soft. His skin, his hair, his breathing… even the way he hummed to himself when he was baking or cleaning. Soft and beautiful and so damn confusing.

Arthur was an enigma to Francis… someone he saw nearly every day, yet still couldn't understand. He'd watched him, known him almost his whole life but still couldn't understand why Arthur was so… Arthur. Was there even another word to describe him?

Arthur was the sweetest person you'd ever meet, but once he was angry he was quite a force to be reckoned with and he made sure everyone knew that. Arthur was strict in his rules, however trivial they were. No cursing, shoes off the furniture, use coasters, socks go on the left, underwear on the right, don't drink milk straight from the carton, no smoking in the house (exceptions were made for after certain activities in the bedroom). Break those rules and Arthur was there in an instant. Francis knew all about Arthur's nagging. He'd been married to him long enough to learn to avoid breaking the rules, no matter how stupid he thought they were.

Arthur was loud, obnoxious, at times, naïve about the world around him, about people's intentions and true nature. He never knew quite when to shut his mouth. Arthur could talk about the stupidest things for hours, and he expected everyone to be just as enraptured with whatever it was he'd decided to blabber about as he was. There were times Francis wanted to stuff his mouth full of those cupcakes he liked to bake so much, just to get some damn peace and quiet.

Arthur was impulsive, hyper, a regular ball of energy. He never could just sit and relax. He always had to be doing something. Cooking, cleaning, laundry, gardening… It was like Arthur had a secret "ON" switch in his head that didn't flip off until he hit the sheets at night. If he didn't have anything to do he paced. If he didn't pace he'd fidget. It drove Francis crazy, stressed him to all hell.

Arthur was insecure. He wasted so much time and money on those stupid cosmetics, layered it on like it was icing and he was the cake. For what? To cover freckles? There was nothing wrong with having freckles. There were time Arthur had even inadvertently hurt Francis by refusing to let him see them, on lazy days at home when it was just the two of them.

He could look now, though. Arthur always took his makeup off before bed, always made sure to turn off the bedroom light before he padded across the floor in his stupid pink bunny slippers and crawled into bed. Now… there was enough light from the moon that he could see. They speckled across Arthur's skin, mostly on his cheeks and his nose. Little specks of color on his almost white skin. There was nothing wrong with them. He didn't understand Arthur's hatred of them so much.

Francis' gaze lowered, landed on Arthur's lips. Arthur was erotic, more so than he knew. He could do things with his mouth that no one should know how to do. He knew how to clench himself in sinfully pleasing ways. He knew how to touch, how to rub, how to move his body in a way that could turn the heads of men and women alike.

Arthur was kind, caring, compassionate. Too much so for his own good. Francis could never understand how he could stand up for the lowest of people, couldn't understand why it was worth his time. He didn't know why Arthur would stop if he saw a crying child and buy him ice-cream on the streets. Arthur helped old ladies cross the street, put baby birds back in their nests if he found them on the ground, cared for sick or injured wild animals.

Arthur could cook anything you asked for, and make it the best you've ever had, even if he'd never made it before. He was a master in the kitchen, knew recipes from all over the world. He could perform measurements in his head, never needed a measuring cup for anything. He could slice and mince anything with a speed that was frightening, could fine tune any dish to be just the right amount of spicy, because Arthur never forgot that Francis liked spicy foods.

Arthur never forgot anything. He knew everyone's birthday, even people that were no longer alive. He never forgot anniversaries, and forgave Francis when he did, every year. He knew everyone's favorite dish, knew everyone's favorite color. It was as if he had it all written on a calendar in his head.

Francis hated everything about Arthur, and at the same time, loved him for everything he was. Life without Arthur would be quiet, that was for sure, uneventful, monotonous. He craved it yet at the same time always longed for Arthur to come home whenever he had to go away.

Arthur was hugs and kisses and hand holding and headaches and frustration all rolled into one big pink and blue, bowtied bottle.

Francis was brought out of his thoughts as Arthur shifted closer to him. He lazily slid his arm around his waist, took a breath. Arthur… Arthur was the simplest person he'd ever known, and the most complex at the same time. Arthur was always the same, yet a complete surprise at the same time. Francis knew everything there was to know about Arthur, but still knew nothing about him at all. He sighed again, pressed his lips to the top of Arthur's head for a moment, closed his eyes as that pink hair tickled against his nose.

Francis' thoughts were still on his husband beside him as he drifted back to sleep. Arthur baking in his apron, Arthur wiping coffee marks from the coffee table, Arthur sleeping soundly beside him. Arthur kissing him, hugging him, brushing his hair… Arthur's big blue eyes… his smile, his laugh. Arthur's soft breathing beside him. Arthur….


	2. Dirty Socks and Cigarette Butts

Laundry day was always Arthur's least favourite day of the week. It wasn't the laundry itself he disliked, it was the hunt throughout the house for his husband's discarded clothes. It didn't matter how many times Arthur showed him the laundry bin, Arthur would still find discarded socks (always in the living room), underwear(always in the bathroom) and pants(always under the bed) strewn throughout their home. Never his shirts… Somehow, his shirts always made it to the dirty clothes bin.

Being married to Francis Bonnefoy wasn't easy, but Arthur was happy nonetheless. He was happy to cook and clean and please his husband. Except on laundry day. Laundry day was the root of many of their fights, Arthur could never understand what was so difficult about putting dirty clothes in the bin and Francis always seemed to simply not care where his clothes went, so long as they got washed.

Arthur heaved out a sigh as he began his weekly search through their home, knew all the likely spots that Francis' dirty laundry had been stuffed throughout the week. He began in the living room. He always found the bulk of it in the living room. Under the couch was the most likely of places, so that's where he searched first. Surprise, there were four dirty socks just waiting for him to find. Arthur felt a surge of annoyance as he fished his arm under the couch, reached for the offending garments to pull them out. Why was it so hard to just put them in the bin?

Another two pairs of socks were stuffed between the cushions of the couch, the other three pairs under the entertainment center. Laundry would be so much easier if he didn't have to play this game every week. It was hard keeping a home clean when Francis lived in it. It wasn't that he was a slob, per-se, more that he was extremely forgetful and a bit lazy.

Arthur thought back to when he had first moved in to Francis' home, how messy it had been. Discarded cigarette butts had littered the floor and laundry heaped in a large pile on the bedroom floor, the dishes stacked in the sink, waiting to be washed. Arthur had set in immediately with rules and a rigourous cleaning schedule.

In the years since their wedding, Francis had learned to follow all of Arthur's rules… most of the time, except for this one. This one rule he seemed to refuse to obey under any circumstance. Arthur had given up even talking about it anymore, just accepted it as something that always would be a part of living with Francis, even if it was annoying. Even if it was frustratingly annoying…

Francis wasn't a bad husband. Arthur considered himself extremely lucky to be married to someone so handsome and sweet. Even if most people didn't see it, Francis really could be sweet. His poetry always made Arthur's heart flutter, every single one. He had them all tucked away safely in his pink diary. Francis showed his love with the little things he did for Arthur, the things most other couples would see as meaningless, trivial things. Simple little things, brushing a hair out of Arthur's face or setting down a book he'd been reading when Arthur said something to him. It was small things like that that showed Arthur every day that he was loved.

It was time to collect the rest of Francis' dirty laundry. The pants were kicked beneath the bed and the underwear shoved into a corner in the bathroom. He went for the underwear first, it was easier. Arthur knew that he'd have to crawl under their king sized bed to reach Francis' pants. He always had to scoot on his belly, his arm outstretched to reach for at least one pair. He didn't understand why Francis couldn't just nudge them under the bed. Why did he have to kick them so far back?

Francis was far from perfect, Arthur knew. He came to expect Francis to forget their anniversary. At first it had hurt, but as the years went by, Arthur knew that he didn't do it on purpose. Francis tried to remember, even wrote it in his calendar. Francis simply forgot to look at his calendar… Arthur forgave him every year, even if it hurt a little. Every year it hurt a little less.

Arthur knew that Francis tried to follow the rules. Not because they were good rules, but because in his own way, Francis was trying to make him happy. Arthur rewarded him with coins to the 'good husband' jar, which, once full, was Francis' to spend as he pleased. Arthur smiled as he remembered Francis using his 'good husband' money to buy him a new bowtie after he'd forgotten his birthday.

Playing housewife for Francis was still frustrating, even though he loved it. He picked up the same messes every day, followed the same routine every morning. Francis would wake him up to make breakfast, and he would on most days, then he'd crawl back up to bed to sleep for another few hours while Francis did whatever he did while Arthur slept. Arthur never asked him about it. It was Francis' private time that Arthur knew he needed.

Francis never disturbed Arthur as he took his naps throughout the day, and even carried him up to bed if he fell asleep on the couch. Francis always remembered to take his smoking outside, only because the smoke irritated Arthur's nose and made him get headaches. The only time exceptions were made was after sex, in which Arthur never complained. When Francis lit up after a tumble in the sheets he knew he'd been especially good, and that always made him happy.

All the dirty laundry had been collected, tossed into the bin and was now being carried to the laundry room for sorting. It was an easy enough task, and Arthur's frustration with Francis began to dwindle.

Arthur lived to please Francis in every way he could. It made him happy to take care of his husband. He loved the role of housewife, loved putting his apron on when he got up doing his chores. He loved the accomplished feeling he got when he took it off in the afternoon, everything finished and clean and ready for a new day.

Arthur loved Francis, even if he was frustratingly messy and his humor was dry and his words of affection often lacking. It just made every "I love you." Spoken to him from Francis' lips that much more special. He knew Francis wouldn't say it at all if he didn't mean it. Francis wouldn't hold him close after he'd woken him up after a nightmare in the middle of the night if he didn't love him.

Francis definitely wasn't Prince Charming, but Arthur couldn't picture himself being touched by anyone else. He loved the thick hairs on Francis' body, loved how they felt against his skin while they had their fits of passion. He loved how Francis moved inside him and how his hands gripped him like he might disappear. He loved how the stubble tickled his neck as Francis left his marks on his skin. He loved how Francis could make him lose control of himself and cry out his pleasures at the top of his lungs.

Arthur was happy in his marriage. Even on laundry days. When it was all said and done, and the clothes folded and all put away, Arthur couldn't help but feel accomplished that he'd gone through another frustrating morning of find-the-socks. The only chore left for the day was dinner. He decided on something nice for tonight, something to show Francis how much he loved him, a nice dessert. Maybe even a bottle of wine.

Arthur padded through the house to find his husband seated on the couch, a book in his hands. He couldn't help but smile. Yes, he was happy. He didn't want anyone else. He couldn't help himself from resting a hand on Francis' shoulder, and once Francis set his book aside, he crawled into his lap, arms around his husband's neck, and kissed him.


End file.
